


Neither Curtain Nor Chasm

by lauawill



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-23
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2018-01-16 17:57:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1356682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lauawill/pseuds/lauawill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few months after their return to the Alpha Quadrant, Chakotay makes plans. Written for the VAMB Secret Santa 2013, which you will find within.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Malezita](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malezita/gifts).



> My Secret Santa 2013 request from Malezita was for a J/C story based on the poem she gave me, with romance, angst, adventure, smut -- a little bit of everything, in short. There was an additional parameter which I'll add at the end of the story so I don't give anything away.

“Tactics and Strategy”

Mario Benedetti

  
_My tactic is to look at you_  
 _To learn how you are_  
 _Love you as you are_  
 _My tactic is to talk to you_  
 _And listen to you_  
 _And construct with words_  
 _An indestructible bridge_  
  
 _My tactic is to stay in your memory,_  
 _I don't know how_  
 _Nor with what pretext_  
 _But stay within you_  
  
 _My tactic is to be honest_  
 _And know you are too_  
 _And that we don't sell each other illusions_  
 _So that between us there is no curtain or abyss_  
  
 _My strategy instead is_  
 _Deeper and simpler._  
 _My strategy is that some day_  
 _I don't know how, nor with what pretext_  
 _That finally you need me._  
  
\-- Mario Benedetti (translated by Chris Kraul)

 

**NEITHER CURTAIN NOR CHASM**

**Part One**

            For weeks, he watches and waits.

            In the quiet of his Academy office, he spends the months of February and March staring at the HQ building, hopeful for a glimpse of her. He requested his second-floor office entirely for its south-facing windows, which allow him the perfect vantage point. A check of the HQ directory has told him that when her post-mission leave is up and she finally goes back on active duty, she will occupy the northwest corner office on the fifth floor of her building. He gazes up at it for minutes at a time, hours at time, without seeing her at all.

            The weeks pass, but still he watches and waits, alone in his office. Most of their crew have scattered across the quadrant. Tom and B’Elanna have settled on Jupiter Station. Mike Ayala has gone back to Trebus to help with the rebuilding. Harry, newly promoted, is off on a new deep-space mission. Tuvok is still recovering on Vulcan. Very few of his friends have stayed on Earth, and none he sees regularly. Sometimes, the loneliness and loss threaten to overwhelm him. Meditation and exercise and long hours in his office help to keep the feelings at bay…most of the time.

            On a stormy April Monday he glances out his window and discovers that every office on the fifth floor is lit up except hers. Bored with waiting and anxious to make contact again, he wonders if perhaps he should just call her; maybe she’s having difficulty readjusting to life in the Alpha Quadrant and could use a friend. But their relationship was so strained by the end that he fears she might not call him “friend” anymore. His ill-fated relationship with Seven is a troubling aberration he’ll need to explain, too, as soon as he finds the right words. He sighs and begins to turn away from the window, but then a lone figure scurrying across the quad catches his eye. The sight, so welcome after all this time, makes his heart flutter against his ribs.

            Her quick, light strides falter when a gust of wind catches in her red umbrella, but she yanks the handle close to her body and hurries on. When she takes the steps up to the building two at a time, no small task for someone so short, he almost smiles. She disappears into the building and his gaze moves up to the northwest corner of the fifth floor where, a moment later, her office lights flick on. He holds his breath when she steps up to the window and leans against it, coffee in hand. He’s seen her do this hundreds of times on _Voyager_ , but never from this position, never where he could see her face so well. Even from this distance he can see that her expression is pensive on this, her first day back on duty after the end of their seven-year journey. He wonders if she is melancholy, if she misses _Voyager_ as much as he does, or if she’s relieved to be home again and looking forward to the next phase of her career.

            He wonders if she has thought about him at all in the months they’ve been apart.

            Minutes pass. She sips her coffee and stares out into the rain while he sits and watches, transfixed by his first sight of her in weeks. When she turns away from the window and disappears into the office, he opens his desk drawer and pulls out a small black field notebook and an old-fashioned ink pen.

            _Monday, April 2, 2379,_ he writes in neat, blocky letters. _0800._ _Coffee._

            He slips the notebook and pen into the inside pocket of his uniform jacket and gathers up the PADDs he will need for his first class. Before he leaves, he casts one last glance up at the warm light from her window and smiles.

=/\=

            He can’t say when this, his attempt to bridge the months-long gap between himself and Kathryn, becomes a strategic exercise, but soon all the observations he’s scrawled into the ever-present notebook add up to a record of her routine – or as much of her routine as he can glean while still teaching a roster of full classes himself. By the end of April he knows the pattern of her daily arrivals – 0800 Monday and Tuesday, an hour earlier the rest of the week – and departures – 1700 most days, much earlier on Fridays. He knows which days she’s most likely to stay in her office and which days she’s most likely to go out. He knows where she goes to lunch and with whom she dines, although usually she goes alone.

            Over a weekend in the middle of April, she installs curtains on all her office windows, probably to shut out the glare of the sun on the Pacific Ocean. The presence of the curtains bothers him for most of that week, until she begins leaving the ones on the north-facing windows open all day. Even when the west curtains are closed against the bright afternoon light, he can still look up and peer into her office.

            He does not want curtains between them. He does not want _anything_ between them now that they are home.

            On a Wednesday in late April, he leans against the lectern in his classroom as his students file out. He consults his notebook and glances over the entries for the previous three Wednesdays:

            _Wednesday, April 4. Arrived at 0655 with coffee. Left office during Anthropology lecture. Returned at 1145. Lunch in office. Meetings in office all afternoon. Left at 1700._

_Wednesday, April 11. Arrived at 0656 with coffee. Gone at 1100. Returned at 1145. Lunch in office. Meetings. Left at 1715._

_Wednesday, April 18. Arrived at 0725, no coffee._

            Chakotay smiles, remembering the exasperation he could see on her face, even so far away, when she realized she was not only running late, she’d also forgotten her coffee.

            He reads on.

            _Returned 0740 with coffee. Gone by 1100. Returned at 1140. Lunch in office. Meetings. Left at 1730._

            He glances at the clock in the empty classroom: 1125. He slips the notebook back into the inside pocket of his uniform jacket, gathers his things and leaves the classroom building, headed to the air tram station and the transport that will take him away from the training grounds and across the Golden Gate to the Presidio.

            Today’s the day.

            On a page at the back of the notebook, he’s scribbled a tentative strategy for making contact with her and beginning to rebuild their friendship. Today, April 25, is the day he has decided to try to speak to her, maybe even offer to take her to lunch if she seems glad to see him.

            The air tram seems to take forever.

            Back at the Presidio, he jogs toward the open space between his Academy office building and her HQ building.

            At the corner of the quad he pauses and watches for her. On Wednesdays she always returns to her office via the cobblestone path opposite him, probably from a standing conference in the Engineering building. He plans to set out across the quad as soon as he sees her turn the corner so that their meeting will seem as natural as possible. He shakes his head at himself, picturing her indignation if she knew he’d been effectively stalking her for almost a month, but then he sees her sail around the corner and holds his breath.

            The late April sun catches her full in the face as she enters the quad, glinting off the red-gold highlights in her hair. She stops and squints against the brightness, but instead of raising her hand to shield herself from the sun she smiles and turns her face up to it. His heart melts as he watches her. He’s done the same thing dozens of times since their return, enjoying the feel of the Terran sun on his skin after so many years away.

            He doubts that the expression on his own face is ever as rapturous as hers is right now, or as quietly beautiful.

            When she resumes her trek across the quad, he takes a deep breath and starts toward her. His hands, one curled around a stack of PADDs, the other clenched into a fist at his side, are sweaty.

            Before he can call to her, she notices him walking along the path toward her. “Chakotay?” she gasps, and then, “Chakotay! My god!”

            As she darts toward him, her hands outstretched, he feigns surprise. “Kathryn?” He takes three quick steps and reaches out to clasp her fingers in his empty hand, but she shocks him by folding him in an embrace, her arms wrapped around his body. As affectionate as their friendship once was, this is the first time she’s ever hugged him this way. He suppresses a gasp of wonder and pulls her close, his nose buried in her soft hair. “It’s so good to see you,” he murmurs. “So good, Kathryn.”

            She steps back from him and takes his hand, as he’d expected her to all along. “It’s good to see you, too.” She searches his face, her brows knit together, then she smiles and pats his shoulder. “The gray suits you.”

            He wonders if she’s referring to his Academy uniform, which, like hers, is gray and black with a red turtleneck underneath, or his hair, which is finally going natural after five years of efforts to keep it dark. Then she reaches up and brushes her fingertips over the top of his ear. “Very distinguished.”

            At her touch, a warm little frisson of desire runs through his whole body, but he refuses to let it show in his face. “It suits you, too,” he says. “The uniform, I mean. Brings out the blue in your eyes.”

            She blushes. “Thank you.”

            With a squeeze of her hand, still clasped in his, he pulls her to an empty bench at the edge of the cobblestone path. “Are you back on full-time duty?”

            “Yes, about a month ago.” She points to the office building opposite them. “My office is in that building. Fifth floor, northwest corner.”

            He peers at it, pretending to count up and over. “You must have a good view of the Pacific.”

            She nods. “How about you?”

            He hooks a thumb toward the squat building behind them. “Second floor, fifth window from the left.”

            With a start, she turns and squints. “You’re right across the quad! Which one?”

            He points. “Fifth from the left,” he repeats.

            She shakes her head and turns back to him. “It’s a wonder we haven’t run into each other before now, since you’re right there.”

            He hums a vague agreement. “I’m sure you’ve been very busy.”

            “Not especially,” she sighs. “Nothing like _Voyager_ , anyway. Just a lot of meetings and administrative work. I’m assured that all of this will soon lead to more responsibility and more interesting assignments, but for now…” She gives her head a little shake. “I’ve become a deskbound bureaucrat, Chakotay.”

            “Are you managing to avoid the worst of the paperwork, at least?”

            She elbows him in the ribs. “Sadly, no. My aide isn’t nearly as effective as my former First Officer at deflecting those PADDs from my sight.”

            With a soft chuckle, he leans toward her. “I had seven years to perfect the art. Give your aide some time; I’m sure she’ll get the hang of it.”

            “Maybe you could drop by and give her some pointers someday.”

            “And divulge my secrets? Never.”

            She gives him a sidelong glance and laughs, and the sound of it warms him even more than the spring sun. “How are your classes?” she asks after a moment. “Students treating you well? What’s your schedule like?”

            “Full, but manageable,” he replies. “I just came from my Introductory Anthropology lecture. That’s Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, 0900. Tuesdays and Thursdays I have Beginning Tactics lectures at 0830, and then an Advanced practicum at 1400 for two and a half hours.”

            She groans in sympathy. “That must be exhausting.”

            He nods. “It is. When I finally get home on those days, I usually just sit down with a drink and a book, and wind up falling asleep in front of the fireplace with Smoke.”

            She cocks her head to one side. “Need someone to check your chimney, Commander?”

            He laughs out loud. “Smoke is my cat, Kathryn. But thanks for the offer.”

            She rolls her eyes but grins that crooked grin he’s missed so much. “You know what I meant. You must be very settled in, if you got a cat.”

            “Actually, she came with the house.” Kathryn quirks an eyebrow at him, and he shrugs. “A couple days after I moved in, she just showed up on my doorstep. I asked all the neighbors to see if maybe she was lost, but no one claimed her. And once I started feeding her…” He smiles. “I guess she claimed me, in a way.”

            She shakes her head at him. “I might have known you’d turn out to be a cat person.”

            He chuckles. “I don’t know that I’m a ‘cat person’ so much as I am a ‘collects strays’ person. I’ve always been that way.”

            With a nod, she squeezes his hand. “We both are.”

            They sit for a moment, both gazing out across the quad. Thinking of the notebook in his pocket and all his careful planning, he casts about for the right words to ask her to lunch, but she clears her throat and speaks again before he can extend the invitation.

            “So if it’s Wednesday, you must have the afternoon free?”

            He nods. “I usually sit office hours on Wednesdays at 1400, but I’m free until then.”

            With a wide, happy smile, she stands up and drags him behind her. “Lunch? There’s a little Thai restaurant on Lombard Street I’ve been wanting to try. Plenty of vegetarian food on the menu. How about it? Are you game?”

            He can’t help it; he grins at her enthusiasm, and the fact that she has effortlessly upended his strategy for this reunion. He offers her his arm, just like old times. “Of course. Lead on, Admiral.”

            They walk through the grounds and take a public monorail from the Presidio over to Lombard Street, just east of HQ. On the monorail, they both reflexively smile at the civilians who recognize them. Thankfully, some months removed from their sudden return to the Alpha Quadrant, no one stops them to chat.

            The Thai restaurant is crowded, but they find a table for two in a secluded corner. Over their meals – Gai Himparn with chicken for her, spicy Tom Kah Pak with tofu for him – they continue to catch each other up on their work of the last few months, the health of their families, the news they’ve received from their far-flung crew. He’s encouraged by the ease of their talk, given the months they’ve spent apart and the stress and estrangement of their last year or so together.

            She offers to split a dessert of fried bananas with honey, but he winds up eating almost all of it while she watches him, her eyes amused over the rim of her coffee cup.

            “I see you haven’t lost your sweet tooth.”

            He grins. “Never.”

            “So you’re living on Earth now? I thought you might go back to Trebus.”

            He shakes his head. “I visited, but it’s not home. It never really was, to be honest.”

            “What about your sister?”

            He gives a half-hearted shrug. “As desperate as things are there, Trebus is her home. She’ll stay and help with the rebuilding, no matter what it takes.”

            Kathryn reaches across the table and lays her hand on his forearm. “Did she want you to stay?”

            He grips his fork hard. “She did. She tried to convince me. They all did. But it didn’t take me long to remember why I left there when I was fifteen. If it hadn’t been for the Cardassians I never would have regretted it.”

            “I’m sorry, Chakotay. The decision to leave had to have been difficult for you.”

            He shrugs again. “It’s in the past now.”

            “Were you able to mend fences with Sekaya?”

            He looks up quickly. “Oh, yes, things are fine between us. She’s planning to visit me in Sausalito this summer.”

            Kathryn gives him a relieved smile. “I’m glad. I’d hate to think you had come home to a strained relationship with the only family you have left.” She sips her coffee. “Sausalito. That must be very convenient for you.”

            He nods around a mouthful of sweet banana. “I’m within walking distance of the training grounds and classroom buildings, although I usually start the day in my office anyway. My house is just north of Dunphy Park, about a block away from the monorail stop. From there it’s a short ride to the air tram station and across the Golden Gate.”

            “And you have a cat named Smoke.”

            He smiles. “A cat, a lot of books, a gorgeous view and a kayak.”

            Her eyes light up with interest. “A kayak?”

            “Ocean kayaking. Some of my Advanced students talked me into it. I’d seen them out on the water a few times and decided to give it a try.” He licks his fork clean and lays it on the table. “I could show you sometime, if you’re willing,” he offers, as nonchalantly as possible.

            “I’d like that.”

            “Some weekend when you’re free. But give me a day’s warning so I can borrow a tandem craft.”

            He pays the bill over her protests. The day is brisk but pleasant for April, and they decide to walk the couple of kilometers back to HQ. As before, he offers her his arm and she takes it with a smile.

            “So where are you living these days?” he asks, even though he knows. The address is scrawled in his notebook, along with her home comm code and the address of her mother’s house in Indiana.

            “Hmmm? Oh, I have a townhouse just south of HQ, on Clay Street.”

            “Also convenient,” he says.

            “Very. Although I beam to Indiana and spend most weekends with my mother and sister.”

            “Have you gotten to do any of the traveling you talked about back on _Voyager_?”

            “Some. I spent a week in Venice in January, and I joined my family for a weekend in Lake George earlier this month.” She sighs. “I’d like to go to Paris sometime, but for something other than a briefing with the diplomatic corps.”

            He chuckles. “I suppose it’s hard to see the sights when you’re working.”

            Back on the Starfleet grounds, they stand awkwardly on the steps in front of her building. He does not want to say good-bye. “I enjoyed this, Kathryn,” he says. Mentally, he scans through the back page of his tactical notebook. _Make a standing lunch date_ is on there somewhere; he’s sure of it. He shuffles his feet and prepares to ask if she’ll meet him again next Wednesday, but once again, she beats him to the punch.

            “Will you be free again next week for lunch? Are Wednesdays good for you?”

            He can’t stop the wide, happy grin that emerges. “Wednesdays are perfect. Meet at the bench again?”

            She nods. “Unless it’s raining. Then just come on up to my office at 1145 or so. Fifth floor --”

            “Northwest corner. I’ll remember. See you next week, Kathryn.”

            “Next week.” With a final pat of his shoulder, she turns and bounds up the steps and into the building. He waits until she appears at her window, waves up to her, and returns to his desk to prepare for the Cadets who will soon begin turning up for his office hours.

            The next morning, he hangs a stained-glass dragonfly in his window. He hopes it will help her find his office when she looks down from hers, and remember that he is there.

=/\=

            They return to the Thai restaurant on the first two Wednesdays in May. They linger over lunch a little longer each time, chatting about work and family and how much they both miss their far-flung crew. On May 2, she slips her hand into his as they walk back to her building. On May 9, she bids him good-bye with a kiss on his cheek.

            When he scrawls this into his notebook, his hands shake.

            On a Friday in mid-May, he talks one of his students into letting him borrow a tandem kayak. He spends the following Saturday on the bay with her, teaching her the art of handling the craft while learning firsthand what it’s like to have all her attention focused on him and him alone. On _Voyager_ her focus was always split. She always kept one eye open for her ship, one ear cocked for her crew. So did he, to a lesser extent. But now, post- _Voyager_ , she is fixated on him and his every word, his every move.

            He’s intoxicated by this.

            And tenderly, deliciously aroused.

            The days pass by in a blur.

            The balance of his spring semester is filled with projects to grade and practicums to supervise. At the request of his Cadets he sits extra pre-finals office hours whenever he can spare the time – even Saturdays, when he’d rather be out on the water with Kathryn.

            But he reserves lunch on Wednesdays just for her.

            The Wednesday after the kayaking excursion, they lunch at an Italian restaurant that was a favorite when he was a Cadet. They’re both mortified to find that the place has changed hands since his Academy days, and is now more of a caricature of an Italian restaurant. It’s run by Bolians and bizarrely decorated like a Tuscan vineyard crossed with an ancient Roman monument, complete with dusty fake greenery and stone columns. Chakotay can barely see Kathryn around the oversized chandelier hanging over their table, but every time he shifts in his seat to get a better view, a cluster of plastic grapes collides with the side of his head.

            They eat their meal quickly, hardly daring to look at each other. The food is decent, but when their tiramisu dessert arrives in a large wooden gondola, delivered by a singing Bolian in a straw hat and too-tight striped T-shirt, they’ve both had enough. Chakotay hurriedly pays the bill while she places the tiramisu in a small stasis box.

            When they finally stumble out on to the sidewalk, they both give in to their suppressed laughter. She collapses against him, gasping for breath.

            “That place would have embarrassed even Neelix!” she crows.

            He wraps his arm around her, enjoying the feel of her body against his, and steers her back toward the monorail station. “Actually, if he were ever to open an Italian restaurant, I imagine it would be exactly like that.”

            “Except the food wouldn’t be as good.”

            “Ah, but it would have one hundred percent more--”

            “Leola root!” she finishes. “That’s what it needed! More leola root!”

            He laughs. “I’m sorry about that, Kathryn,” he offers, “even if it was entertaining.”

            She turns and places her palm on his cheek. “Oh, I don’t mind. The meal was edible, and it broke up my week. I have a meeting with Nechayev this afternoon that’ll seem like nothing compared to a Bolian gondolier.”

            “A singing Bolian gondolier at that.” He covers the hand on his cheek with his own. “So you didn’t mind?”

            “Not at all. It was fun. We always have fun together.” When he lets go of her hand, she brushes her fingertips against the graying hair at his temple. “I look forward to my Wednesday lunches with you all week.”

            He visualizes the page at the back of his notebook. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. But I still want to make this up to you, if you’ll let me.”

            She drops her hand. “Chakotay…”

            “Hear me out,” he says, and offers his arm. “If I remember correctly, you have a birthday coming up in a few days.”

            “Hmmm. Do I?”

            He chuckles. “I’m going to assume you have plans with your family for the weekend,” he begins, and continues at her nod. “So I’d like to take you to dinner Friday night.”

            “This Friday?”

            He nods. “Friday the 18th, two days before your birthday. The neighbors told me about a restaurant in Sausalito at the end of Spinnaker Drive. They say the food is great, and the view of the bay is spectacular.”

            She walks along beside him, her head tilted to one side. “What kind of food?”

            “Seafood, mostly.”

            Concerned, she glances up at him. “Will you get enough to eat?”

            He smiles at her consideration. “I can make a meal of most anything. And this is for you, Kathryn. For your birthday. Fresh seafood, a good bottle of wine, and a beautiful view.”

            “And good company.”

            His heart swells at her words. “I’m honored that you think so.”

            She is silent for a long moment. He glances down at her from time to time as they stroll along. It occurs to him that she might wonder if he’s asking her for a date, and that particular entry in the back of his notebook is still at least two weeks away – and there’s still the matter of Seven that needs to be addressed before he’ll feel completely comfortable moving forward with Kathryn. But while he’s searching for words to put her at ease, she speaks again. “Chakotay,” she murmurs, “would this be just a birthday dinner with a friend, or something more?”

            It amazes him that she can so casually and consistently undermine all his strategizing. Perhaps he should sit in her office and deal with Starfleet bureaucracy, and she should teach his tactics classes. He tries to keep his voice as light as possible when he answers her, even though his heart is hammering in his chest. “Any dinner I have with you will always be dinner with my best friend,” he begins, and smiles when he sees her expression falter. “But someday I’d like it to be dinner with my best friend…and something more. If you want that, too, of course.”

            “Of course,” she echoes, and favors him with the crooked smile he’s adored since the first time he saw it almost eight years ago.

            He grins down at her. “’Of course’ what? Of course you want that too, or of course it’ll only be something more if you say it is?”

            She stops walking and turns to face him. “Of course you’re putting the matter back in my hands, even after you’ve told me, in your own roundabout way, that you want more from me than you’d ever dare to ask for outright.”

            The amusement drains from him. “Kathryn, I didn’t mean--”

            She places her hand on his chest. “I know. You didn’t mean to push. And you’re not pushing, Chakotay. You’re just…” She bites her lip and blinks up at him. “You’re just being you. Kind and considerate.” She gazes at the hand on his chest. “Good-hearted. It’s one of the things I counted on out there, one of the things that kept me grounded. Your good heart that always puts others first…that always puts _me_ first. But I think maybe it’s time for you to stop doing that.”

            He shoves his shaking hands in his pockets, terrified that he’s misread her, that all his careful planning and all his hopes, buried for so long and just recently allowed to surface, mean nothing. “What are you saying, Kathryn? And please be very specific. This is much too important for misunderstandings.”

            She sighs and stares down at the container of tiramisu in her free hand. “I’m not as good with words as you are, Chakotay, so forgive me if this comes out wrong. All right?” He nods, even though he doubts that anything she could say to him now won’t hurt like hell no matter how she says it. “For a long time, we’ve danced around each other like this. We didn’t really have a choice out there, but there were a few times when we came very close to crossing a barrier we both knew we shouldn’t.” She looks up at him with the crooked smile again, and he relaxes just a little. “A slightly tipsy sail on Lake George comes to mind,” she continues. “And a man who was very bothered that Q wanted to mate with me.”

            In spite of himself, he chuckles. “I wanted to hit him so badly. You have no idea.”

            “I wanted to leap across the desk and throw my arms around you for feeling that way.”

            His eyes widen. “You did?”

            “There’s a fine line between chivalry and chauvinism. You were skirting it that day. You were also on the verge of blowing all my Starfleet protocols and personal parameters right out an airlock. I should have been furious. I _wanted_ to be furious, but in reality I adored you for it.” Speechless, he stares down at her. She bites her lip. “And you didn’t know, did you?”

            He shakes his head slowly.

            She pats his chest. “This is exactly what I mean, Chakotay. We’ve gotten so good at hiding our feelings from each other that maybe we can’t be honest and direct anymore. It’s something we’ll need to work on if--”

            “I love you,” he blurts out, mentally ripping up every page in his tactics notebook. “I’ve loved you almost from the minute I saw you on my viewscreen eight years ago, and even though we’ve been through some difficult times I’ve never stopped. Never. I won’t lie; I’ve been with other women, both out there and since we’ve been back. But it was you I was thinking of every time. It’s always been you. It’ll always _be_ you. I love you, Kathryn. Just you, just as you are.”

            Her mouth falls open, but before she can respond he forges ahead. “You want me to be direct? How’s this for direct?” He steps toward her, wraps one arm around her waist and pulls her body flush against his, where there can be no mistaking his intentions. She gasps. “At 1900 hours on Friday night, I’m going to pick you up at your townhouse on Clay Street. We’ll take my hovercar – it’s state of the art, you won’t be able to keep your hands off it – we’ll drive across the Golden Gate Bridge and into Sausalito to the restaurant at the end of Spinnaker Drive. You’ll have lobster dripping with butter sauce, and every bite that passes your luscious lips will be agony for me. Agony. By the end of the meal I’ll be squirming in my seat, desperate to get you home and into my bed.”

            “Chakotay!” she huffs, eyes wide.

            “I’ll risk life and limb, driving at top speed the few blocks from the restaurant to my house in Sausalito. Once we’re finally inside I’ll have you up against the door so fast you won’t know what happened. I’ll  kiss you until neither of us can breathe, until your gorgeous body is wrapped around me and I’m so hard I’m in pain.”

            She quirks an eyebrow and presses her soft belly against him. “Like now?” There’s challenge in her eyes, but he’s gratified that her voice is shaky and breathless.

            He lowers his head to growl in her ear. “This is nothing, Kathryn. Nothing. We haven’t even kissed yet, and this is what you’ve done to me. Imagine what Friday will be like.”

            She exhales against his neck, long and slow, and he pulls her even more snugly against his eager body. “I’ll have you begging by 2200 hours, Kathryn, and screaming by midnight.”

            With her hand on his chest, she pushes him slightly away from her. “Screaming?”

            “Screaming out my name. Over and over again.”

            She nods once. “That’s fine. You’re going to need the reminder anyway.”

            He blinks in confusion. “Reminder?”

            “Of your name.” She extricates herself from his grasp and saunters away from him, hips swaying. “Because somewhere around 2300 hours, I intend to make you forget it.”

            He laughs, low and dark, eyes fixed on her lush backside. “I take it I was direct enough for you, Admiral?” he calls.

            “Very much so, Commander,” she tosses over her shoulder.

            “And that barrier we knew we shouldn’t cross?”

            “Obliterated with a tricobalt grenade.”

            He takes a hasty step toward her, then another. “Don’t you want me to walk you back to your office?”

            She raises a hand to stop his progress. “I’m already late for my weekly meeting with Nechayev. But if you walk me back to my office, I’ll not only be late, I might just decide to skip it altogether.”

            “Friday at 1900 hours, Kathryn. Don’t forget.”

            “Not a chance, Chakotay. You’ve made sure of that.”

            He leans against a building and watches her walk away from him. His heart is pounding so hard he’s half afraid it’ll leap right out of his chest.

=/\=

            Friday, May 18, dawns clear and warm. He goes about his daily business with a pleasant hum of eager anticipation in the back of his mind. His 0900 students are more fidgety than usual – young people with a bad case of spring fever, he decides, and lets them go half an hour earlier than usual. When they look up at him with surprise, he finds himself smiling at them. “Go take a walk,” he tells them. “Go down to the gardens and smell the flowers. Slow down for a while and enjoy the day.”

            He chuckles to himself when he hears the echo of old Boothby in his words, and resolves to tell Kathryn about it later.

            _Kathryn._

            Just the presence of her name in the back of his mind threatens to turn his anticipation into something far more urgent.

            Back on the HQ side of the Golden Gate, he strolls through the Presidio with quick, confident steps. Out of habit, he glances up at her window.

            Her curtains are drawn for the first time in weeks. He frowns up at them and makes his way up to his office.

            Before he can fully puzzle out the significance of the closed curtains, his comm badge chirps. _“Janeway to Chakotay.”_

            He smiles and picks up the box with her birthday gift – a simple emerald pendant on a delicate silver chain – and turns it over in his fingertips. “Chakotay here. I was just thinking about you, Kathryn.”

            There’s a cold silence on the other end of the comm. _“I’m afraid I can’t have dinner with you this evening.”_

            He grips the box, staring at her drawn curtains. “What? Why?”

            Another silence. _“I just don’t think it would be a good idea, Commander.”_

            “Has something come up? Are you going to be working?”

            _“No, not at all. I’ll just be going home, as usual.”_

            He darts out of the office. “Kathryn, what--”

            _“And I don’t think we should meet for lunch anymore, either_ ,” she continues.

            “Wait, Kathryn,” he says, racing into the lift at the end of his hallway. “Tell me what’s happened. What’s going on?”

            _“Nothing, Commander. I just…”_ She sighs. _“We can’t see each other anymore. I’m sorry.”_

            As the lift doors open on the ground floor lobby, he’s desperately trying to figure out why she’s suddenly changed her mind about taking their relationship further. “Did someone say something?” he asks. “Did Admiral Nechayev--”

            _“No, not Nechayev.”_

            “But someone said something. Who?” he demands, rounding the corner and emerging into the quad at a jog. “Who said…”

            He stops in his tracks.

            Seven of Nine is descending the stairs from Kathryn’s building.

            She’s not supposed to be here. She’s supposed to be on _Vulcan_.

            A nervous knot forms in the pit of his stomach as Seven crosses the quad in the opposite direction and disappears around the corner.

            “I’m coming up, Kathryn.”

            _“No.”_

            “Yes. We need to talk.” He takes the steps up to her building two at a time and dashes into a lift just as the doors slide closed. “I’m coming up right now.”

            _“I don’t want to talk to you. Not yet. Just…stay away until I can sort this out for myself.”_

            “Too late. I’m on your floor now. I’m almost there.”

            _“Don’t, Chakotay. Don’t do this.”_

            “Is that an order?” He doesn’t bother to ring her office chime and blows past her bewildered aide without a glance. The inner office door opens when he approaches. “Because you can make it an order, Kathryn, but I don’t think I can obey it.”

            She’s seated at her desk, outwardly calm, but he knows her well enough to see the signs of agitation in the way she fingers the items on her desk. “This is inappropriate, Commander,” she snarls.

            “I don’t care.”

            She raises her chin at him. “I could have you removed.”

            “You could.” He seats himself in the chair opposite her desk. “But we’d still need to talk about this. Now seems to be as good a time as any.”

            She starts to turn away from him. “Sit there as long as you like, Commander. I don’t intend to--”

            “She was here, wasn’t she?” Kathryn’s head snaps around again. “Seven? She was here. I saw her leaving the building.”

            Kathryn nods once. “Yes. She heard through the grapevine that we’d been spending a lot of time together. You can imagine what we talked about.”

            He shrugs. “I can imagine, yes. I’d rather you just told me so I can explain it from my point of view.”

            She gives a humorless little chuckle. “I don’t think it would matter, Chakotay. What you did to her was unconscionable.”

            He draws back in surprise. “I’ll grant you that the breakup was messy, but I hardly think ‘unconscionable’ is accurate.”

            “Isn’t it? A girl barely half your age, Chakotay. Inexperienced, naïve… You’re hardly the first man to chase after--”

            “Now wait just a damn minute,” he thunders. “I never chased anybody. I don’t know what you think you know, but she initiated everything. And she may be young, but she’s an adult and fully capable of making her own decisions.”

            “Barely.”

            “You don’t give her enough credit.”

            “And you give her too much, Chakotay,” Kathryn snaps. “She wasn’t ready for a relationship.”

            “Relationship?” He fights not to laugh out loud. “It was a handful of lunch dates on the ship, a couple of dinner dates here.”

            “A couple? She says it was five.”

            “All right, five,” he barks. “We went out to dinner five times between the day we got back and the end of January, when we called it off.”

            She regards him with a cool, calculating expression that he hasn’t seen directed at him since the early days of their journey. “So the decision to stop seeing each other was mutual?”

            “Yes. Completely.” He leans toward her in his chair, holding her eyes. “I don’t know what she told you, Kathryn, but I didn’t just dump her. We agreed together that it wasn’t working, and we shouldn’t see each other romantically anymore.”

            She narrows her eyes at him. “Why wasn’t it working?”

            He grinds his teeth, staring at her. For the first time since he barged in the door, he suspects that Seven has revealed more than she should, more than he wanted her to, and he regrets his attempt to move forward without addressing the matter with Kathryn. He should have adhered to his strategy. “What did she tell you?” he asks, as calmly as he can. “What did she say?”

            Kathryn stares at him for a long, uncomfortable moment, then quirks an eyebrow at him. “She said something happened on the night of the fifth dinner date. Something that made her think you weren’t in love with her.”

            “I’m not.”

            “But she got a very sudden, very visceral demonstration of that fact,” Kathryn says in a low voice. “Didn’t she?”

            A trickle of sweat runs down his back. He refuses to answer.

            Kathryn stands up behind her desk, looming over him. “Didn’t she, Chakotay?”

            He licks his lips. “Yes. She did.”

            “Damn it, Chakotay,” Kathryn spits at him. “How could you? How could you start seeing someone else while you had that girl hanging on your every word?”

            Startled, he stands up opposite her so quickly the chair tips and scrapes partway across the office. “What? I wasn’t seeing anyone else!”

            “But she claims you… Seven said…” She stops, unable to say the words.

            He’s going to have to tell her. Chakotay knows it now; he thinks maybe he’s known it all along. He retrieves the chair and sinks into it, hands clenched in his lap, forcing an outward calm he doesn’t feel. “I called out someone else’s name,” he says. “I did. We weren’t even in bed yet. We were just…she was…” He swallows hard, unable to meet her eyes. “I looked down at her and I told her I loved her, and then I said the wrong name.” He grips the arms of the chair. “It’s the most inconsiderate thing I’ve ever done to a woman. We were both horrified. I tried to explain, to apologize. But we both knew then that it was over. We talked for a few minutes longer and agreed that it probably never should have started in the first place. Then she grabbed her things and left. I tried to contact her a few times after that to offer her a more rational apology, but she wouldn’t take my calls. Then she went to Vulcan. I didn’t even know she was back until today.” He lets out a long, slow breath and glances up at her. “I hurt her, didn’t I?”

            “Hurt?” Kathryn explodes. Her shout echoes off the windows of her office, and Chakotay winces at her tone. “You didn’t hurt her, you broke her goddamn _heart_!”

            “And you broke mine!” he bellows back, completely unable to control his anger anymore. Unable and unwilling. He rises and only keeps himself from lunging across the desk at her with difficulty. “You broke mine, Kathryn, over and over again. I knew why we couldn’t be together the way I wanted to be. But you even pushed my _friendship_ aside because of duty or protocol or whatever it was that let you sleep at night, and every time you did it, I wanted to die. By the end, I was _praying_ for death because I just couldn’t take it anymore. So when Seven let me know she was interested, I jumped at the idea. Maybe I could finally be with someone who could love me back. I would try to forget how I felt about you. I really thought I had succeeded, too.” He spreads his hands flat on the desk between them and leans toward her. “Until we got back. Until that night, when her lips tore _your_ name from my throat, and it all came crashing down.”

            At the sound of her startled gasp, he leans even further toward her over the desk, invading her space. “She didn’t tell you that part of it, did she, Kathryn? She didn’t tell you that when she wrapped her mouth around me, I groaned and looked into her eyes and said, ‘I love you, Kathryn. I love you.’”

            She shakes her head at him, once, slowly, her fingertips pressed to her lips.

            “Now you know.” He takes a step back from her desk. “I’ve tried to apologize to her, but she won’t listen. That’s her prerogative. And I am sorry, truly sorry, that I hurt her. But I’m not sorry for dating her, and I’m not sorry for trying to save myself. I’m only sorry for the timing.” He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out the wrapped package he’d planned to present to her at dinner. “Happy birthday, Kathryn.”

            Then he turns and stalks from her office without a backward glance.

            On Monday, he notices that her curtains are closed.

            They stay that way for weeks, taunting him every time he glances up at them.

            After a while, he stops looking at them altogether.

**END of Part 1**


	2. Chapter 2

**Part Two**

            Weeks pass.

            He does not see her.

            Through an acquaintance at the Vulcan Embassy, he contacts Seven and apologizes to her for his behavior and reiterates his remorse.

            She fixes him with a stare that feels icy, even over the comm system. “You are in love with Admiral Janeway.” It’s not a question, but he nods anyway.

            “I have been for a long time, Seven. On _Voyager_ she could never return my feelings. I thought maybe I’d forget her over time.”

            “But you did not.”

            “No.” He sighs. “No, I didn’t.”

            She arches a pale eyebrow at him. “And you have been seeing her since our parting?”

            “For a while, but not anymore.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I tried to rush things with her, and now…” He closes his lips around his next words, but they come anyway. “It’s over now. Nothing will ever come of it.”

            “I’m sorry, Chakotay.”

            He wants to be angry with her, since she sought Kathryn out and was effectively the catalyst for the final rift between them. But he suspects that in her naïvete, Seven never intended to drive a wedge between her former commanding officers; she only meant to warn Kathryn about the shoddy behavior of the man her friend and mentor was seeing socially.

            He thanks Seven for her time and her understanding, and ends the transmission.

=/\=

            On a sultry Friday at the end of June, when his classes are over for the summer and he's trying to finalize his fall teaching schedule, he's summoned to HQ for a meeting with Nechayev, Hayes and Paris. A part of him hopes to catch a glimpse of Kathryn in the building, but when he passes by her office he finds it dark. She probably knows he would be in today and arranged to be elsewhere. He's disappointed, but not surprised.

            Nechayev, Hayes and Paris, however, surprise him deeply with an offer to return to deep space.

            Captain Selena Liberatore of the  _Mandela_  needs a first officer with his personnel skills and experience. The  _Mandela_  is a brand-new  _Constitution_ -class vessel, bigger than anything he's ever crewed. The four-year mission will be largely diplomatic, out to the frontiers of the quadrant and back. Liberatore, an easygoing woman from Naples, is a former shipmate from his first deep-space mission. 

            Chakotay doesn't have to feign interest during the Admirals' proposal. It's an intriguing offer, and would be an instant boon to his career, maybe even the final hurdle he'd need to clear before being promoted to Captain himself. And, he admits to himself reluctantly, he wouldn't mind getting to know Selena again.

            The following Sunday morning, he takes his kayak out onto the bay along with a lunch, PADDs loaded with the pre-mission briefing and his fall teaching schedule, and the tactical notebook he's been carrying since April. He tests himself against the waves and paddles all the way across to Angel Island, where he pulls the kayak up onto the beach and eats his lunch.

            He arranges the mission briefing, the teaching schedule and the notebook in front of him on the sand, and closes his eyes. The afternoon sun is hot on his face.

            An hour later he rises, strides barefoot down to the water, and heaves the notebook into the ocean, followed by the teaching schedule.

            By the time he paddles home to Sausalito, he's exhausted and sunburned, and falls alone into bed. He sleeps more soundly than he has in weeks.

=/\=

            He arrives at his office early on Monday, July 2, planning to clean out his few belongings before he meets with the Commandant to tender his resignation. As he places his antique books into a storage container, he remembers Kathryn’s copy of Dante’s _Inferno_ on his bedside table in Sausalito. He’ll have to return it to her somehow. Maybe one of his students would take it over for him after he’s gone.

            Deep down, he knows he should tell Kathryn he’s going, and why. But he’s so tired of being outmaneuvered by her that some malicious little part of him wants his unannounced departure to be the last move in the ridiculous game they’ve been playing for the last eight years. It’ll be a flawed victory at best, but still a victory. His first, last, and only.

            He hates himself for thinking of his relationship with Kathryn as an unfriendly competition. They’ve been through too much together to mean so little to each other now, but the fact that she believed every unkind word Seven said about him leads him to think that Kathryn never trusted him with her heart – with _any_ woman’s heart – and that she would have found an excuse to cut ties with him eventually.

            Doomed. The whole thing was doomed from the start. He should never have allowed himself to hope otherwise.

            He’s sitting in his empty office, face in hands, when the door chime rings. It’s probably a student asking for his fall syllabus; they’ve been in and out for the last couple of weeks, these eager young cadets looking for an edge in his notoriously difficult classes. He can’t tell whoever it is that he’s resigning, not until he’s informed the Commandant. So he sighs and rises, turning his back to the door so that whoever is there won’t see the last traces of his emotion.

            “Come on in,” he calls, and crosses toward the windows.

            The voice behind him makes him stop in his tracks. “Good morning, Commander.”

            He turns slowly. She’s in uniform, coffee in one hand, a PADD in the other.  In spite of himself, in spite of everything, she’s as beautiful to him as she ever has been. “Admiral Janeway,” he says.

            “I’m sorry to bother you, and I’m sorry to just barge in her unannounced,” she says. “But I need your professional opinion about something,” she says. “Do you have time, or…” She glances around the now-empty office as if seeing it for the first time, and frowns. “Are you moving to a new office?”

            “Something like that, yes. But I have a few minutes before my first meeting of the day. What can I do for you, Admiral?” The stiff, formal language feels odd on his tongue. He hasn’t addressed her this way since the beginning of their journey, and then only briefly.

            She hands him the PADD. “Read this and tell me what you think.”

            He takes the PADD from her and sits down, motioning her to do the same.

            It’s a mission briefing, similar to every other mission briefing he’s ever read. Admiral Janeway is to report to the _Intrepid_ on Wednesday morning to join Ambassador Timothy Windwall and his staff on a brief trip to Finnis Alpha, a planet petitioning to join the Federation. Chakotay reads the mission briefing through once just scanning for the facts: The Ambassador is charged with pressing upon the Finnis government that their rigid, caste-based society will have to become much more open and free if they are to be admitted to the Federation. While there, Windwall’s staff will assess the conditions on the ground; there seems to be some concern about the living conditions of the lowest working castes and the extreme economic disparity among all the castes.

            Chakotay frowns at the PADD, wondering why the Federation is even considering admitting Finnis, given the society’s fundamental inequality.

            He reads the mission briefing again, more carefully this time. In all the pretty words and elevated language he’s come to associate with these types of mission briefings, he can find no logical reason for Kathryn to be included as part of the diplomatic retinue. Starfleet’s orders for Kathryn, appended to the end of the briefing, give no indication of her role. He looks up from the PADD.

            “What do you think?” she asks, her hands clasped tightly together in her lap. He can’t remember the last time he’s seen her so tense and wary.

            He deactivates the PADD and places it in the middle of his desk. “The Ambassador’s staff has covered all the angles,” he says carefully. “It’s a very thorough mission briefing, and a very clear statement of goals and objectives.”

            She cocks her head to one side. “But?” she prompts.

            “But if you came to me with this on _Voyager_ , I’d insist on going with you.” She raises her chin at him. “When you refused, I’d send both Tuvok and Ayala with you instead. I’d have Harry keep a transporter lock on all of you at all times, and I’d have B’Elanna power up the _Flyer_ in case Tom and I had to go in and get you out.”

            She exhales with a whoosh. “Something’s missing,” she says. “You see it, too.”

            He nods. “There’s no good reason for you to be there.”

            “It wouldn’t be the first time they sent me in just to brandish my brass.”

            “Maybe not, but I think there’s something they’re not telling you. Whether it’s because they don’t want to or they just don’t realize it, I can’t say. But something doesn’t feel right, Admiral.”

            She winces. “I don’t have a lot of time to figure this out, Commander. I leave for Jupiter Station in less than forty-eight hours, then on to the _Intrepid_ and Finnis Alpha.”

            “ _Intrepid_. That’s Captain Setik’s ship, isn’t it?” She nods. “He’s a good man. He’ll do everything he can to keep you safe.”

            She bites her lip. “I know he will. I just wish I knew exactly what he’ll be keeping me safe _from_.”

            He taps his fingertips on the PADD. “It could be nothing. It could simply be seven years of the Delta Quadrant making us think there’s danger here.”

            “Or it could be twenty-five years of Starfleet training,” she counters. “I just don’t know which.”

            “Do you want me to sniff around? See if I can find anything out?”

            She stands and shakes her head. “No, I don’t want it to look like I’m suspicious. But thanks for the offer.”           

            He tries to hand the PADD to her, but she waves him off as she turns to leave his office. “I have my own copy. That one’s for you. Reread it if you have time. Maybe something will come to you before I have to go.”

            He lowers his hand. “Kathryn…”

            She turns back to him with a tired smile. “I’m sure it’ll be all right. We’re just being paranoid. And before you say it, I’ll be careful. Don’t worry about me.”

            “I always worry about you, Kathryn. I probably always will. Even when I shouldn’t.”

            At that, she pauses in the doorway. “I know. And I count on that, Chakotay. Even when I shouldn’t.” Then she’s gone.

            He reads the PADD again and again, looking for clues. He reads it so many times he misses his meeting with the Commandant. She calls and offers to reschedule; he says he’ll let her know when he’s ready.

=/\=

            His dreams that night are haunted by villains.

            They come to him wearing faces that he knows – Cardassians, Hirogen, Borg – and others he does not. Men with serpents’ tongues that crawl on four legs. Multi-eyed giants that swoop down from black skies on leathery wings. Fanged creatures that rise up out of churning seas with unearthly screams that shatter the air.

            And Kathryn, always Kathryn, poisoned with venom, snatched away into the skies, sucked into whirlpools where he cannot save her.

            He’s not naïve enough to believe himself precognitive. He knows, though, that his restless night points to only one conclusion: Deep down, he is convinced that Kathryn’s mission will put her in unknown danger.

            In the morning, in the shadowy hour between troubled sleep and full wakefulness, he resolves to cancel his meeting with Captain Liberatore and find Kathryn before she leaves. He will convince her to let him join the mission, even if he has to beg.

=/\=

            The quad is virtually empty when he spies her hurrying around the corner toward her building. “Admiral!” he calls. “Admiral Janeway!”

            Lost in thought, she does not hear him. “Kathryn!” he shouts, and darts after her. “Kathryn, wait!”

            At the bottom of the steps, she finally whirls back to him with a start. “Chakotay!”

            “I need to talk to you,” he pants. “Do you have a minute?”

            “Of course. Shall we?” Together they sit down on the same bench where they laughed together so many weeks ago. He takes a deep breath, prepared to swallow his pride and ask to accompany the mission, but before he can speak she places her hand on his arm. “I was going to come and find you as soon as I finished my coffee this morning.”

            He blinks. “You were?”

            Nodding, she looks into his eyes. “How difficult would it be for you to clear your schedule and join the mission to Finnis?” When he doesn’t answer right away, she plunges on. “I need you there,” she says softly, and he knows exactly how much the admission has cost her by the way she shakes her head and looks away from him. “I trust the staff the Admiralty assigned to me and I know it isn’t rational, but the truth is that I won’t feel safe. Not if you’re not there to be my eyes and ears. I realize it’s short notice and you probably--”

            “Kathryn.” He reaches over and takes her hand to stop her monologue. “This is what I wanted to talk to you about.”

            “It is?”

            “Yes. I was going to ask you if I could join the mission somehow. An assistant, an observer, an extra security guard. Anything.”

            “Even though things between us have been…strained?”

            He squeezes her hand. “Strained or not, I protect my friends, Kathryn. You know that.” Her gaze softens and he almost smiles. “I’ve already cleared my schedule. I even found someone to feed my cat. When your shuttle leaves for Jupiter Station tomorrow, I’ll be on it. And I’ll be right there beside you for the whole mission.”

            She makes a furtive little motion toward him with her free hand, as if she wants to touch him but isn’t certain she should. “Thank you, Chakotay,” she says. With one last pat of his hand, she rises and steps away, all business once more. “There’s a final mission briefing at 1300 this afternoon. Join me in my office for lunch and then we’ll walk over together.”

            With a smile, he nods. “I’ll be there at noon.”

            In spite of the situation’s gravity and the assignment’s looming danger, he smiles all the way back to his office.

=/\=

            The three-day passage to Finnis is eerily uneventful.

            He tells Kathryn he mended fences with Seven; she only nods and looks away. They do not see each other in anything other than a professional capacity for the entire trip.

            Chakotay meets with Ambassador Windwall and his staff and finds them as trustworthy and transparent as Kathryn had indicated. Captain Setik and his security chief are as prepared and professional as he had expected. They all reassure him that Admiral Janeway is critical to the mission’s success, and that her safety is certain.

            He is unconvinced.

            But the first two days on Finnis are equally as uneventful. While she attends tedious diplomatic meetings and tours the planet’s population centers, Chakotay stays attached to Kathryn’s side, hovering at her left shoulder as if he’s always been there and always will be. He keeps a watchful eye on the Finnis themselves – benign-looking humanoids with wide-set violet eyes and long, graceful limbs – but hour after hour, he finds no reason to be distrustful of them.

            The class differences are unsettling, of course. Once, while they stroll through a quiet park, their party is approached by a Finnis woman in rags. She implores the Federation representatives for amnesty from the rigid caste system. The Finnis President orders his security team to clear the path of the “rabble,” but Kathryn and Ambassador Windwall both protest. They stop and talk to the woman for a long time, mindful of the President’s disapproval and distaste, before they move on through the park. Kathryn is very quiet for the rest of the day. Her uneasiness is clear in the set of her shoulders and the angle of her chin.

            That night finds Chakotay pacing the _Intrepid’s_ corridors, unable to sleep or meditate despite the lateness of the hour. One of the ship’s Holodecks is empty; he calls up a standard training program and enters. He hopes a long run and some time with a holographic sparring partner might clear his head.

            An hour later, bruised and sweaty and no less agitated than before, he finally shuts the program down and heads back to his temporary quarters.

            Outside Kathryn’s door, he stops.

            If he were feeling this way on _Voyager_ , he wouldn’t hesitate. He’d ring her chime, knowing she was as wide awake as he, and together they’d talk through their unease with the situation. But he isn’t certain he has that right anymore.

            He’s still standing there, debating with himself, when his comm badge activates. _“Janeway to Chakotay.”_

            He suppresses a chuckle and taps the comm. “Chakotay here.”

            _“You’re still up._ ”

            “Obviously. What can I do for you, Admiral?”

            She sighs _. “It’s probably nothing.”_

            “What is?”

            _“I was just going over tomorrow’s itinerary, and… Never mind. I’ll let you get to sleep.”_

            “I’ve barely slept since we made orbit. I’ve just spent two hours in the Holodeck trying to tire myself out enough to calm down. It didn’t work. So if there’s something you need to talk through, I’m here.”

_“It’s the middle of the night.”_

            He smiles. “I’m actually standing right outside your door, Kathryn.”

            _“Oh. Well, then.”_ The door slides open and he strolls through.

            She’s still in her uniform pants and turtleneck, but the jacket is thrown over a chair and her boots are nowhere to be seen. From her perch on the edge of the sofa, she eyes him up and down. “I was worried about waking you.”

            He offers her a small smile. “No chance of that.” He gestures towards his sweaty workout clothes. “I’m sorry if I smell like a _targ_ , though.”

            She waves a dismissive hand at him. “I’ve seen you in much worse shape. Help yourself to the replicator and the shower, though, if you want to clean up.”

            “No need.” But from the replicator he orders up a cold electrolyte drink and a hot cup of coffee. “So what did you want to talk about?”

            She takes the coffee and he sits down in the chair opposite her. “Tomorrow we tour a military installation,” she begins.

            He nods. “Officer housing, enlisted barracks, science labs, intelligence centers.”

            She sips her coffee. “Shuttle hangars, a weapons hub, a warp-capable cruiser if there’s time.”

            “The usual.” He takes a long sip of the orange-flavored drink. “So what’s bothering you?”

            With a tired sigh, she leans her head on the back of the sofa and closes her eyes. “Everything.”

            He kicks off his shoes and places his feet on the coffee table. “Me too.”

            A comfortable silence follows this mutual revelation. She finishes her coffee and rolls the empty cup in her hands, fixing him with her ice-blue stare. “You’ll be on your guard?”

            “You know I will.” He drains the last of his drink. “You’ll be careful?”

            She quirks an eyebrow at him. “As careful as I usually am.”

            He gives her a long-suffering look. “That’s what worries me, Kathryn.”

            Her mouth falls open. “Chakotay!”

            With a soft chuckle, he retrieves his shoes and rises. “See you in the morning, Admiral.”

=/\=

            Thirteen hours later, it happens.

            They’ve seen the science labs, the weapons hub and the officers’ quarters. They’re touring the enlisted barracks when Chakotay realizes several things all at once. First, they have seen no female military personnel at any of their stops throughout the morning. No female scientists, no female shuttle pilots, no female officers.

            Second, the enlisted barracks are filled to bursting with muscled young males, most of them bearing the tattoos he’s come to associate with the lowest caste of Finnis society.

            Third, the male officer conducting the tour has stepped away from their party, the first time he’s done so all day. Instinctively, feeling all the violet eyes on them, Chakotay steps closer to Kathryn, his practiced gaze sweeping the room for threats.

            He’s almost too late.

            When the young men all move at once and clear a sight line from the end of the barracks to their party, Chakotay sees the man at the end of the lane raise his weapon. With a shout of warning, he shoves Kathryn down and reaches for Ambassador Windwall.

            _Intrepid’s_ security chief draws his phaser. “Weapon!” he shouts. “Everybody down!”

            Chakotay doesn’t see the officer behind them.

            He only hears the sound of the man’s weapon being discharged.

            The first shot catches him high on the back of the shoulder. He cries out and turns partway toward the shooter, falling backwards even as the second shot catches him in the chest.

            Chaos, then. Shouting, cursing, weapons fire, but he can’t make sense of any it. Curiously, he feels no pain, just an intense and leaden pressure in his lungs. Kathryn’s face swims into his field of vision. “Chakotay!” she gasps.

            He struggles to rise, but she stops him. “Don’t move,” she says, and yanks his uniform jacket open. “Oh god,” she breathes. “Oh god, no. No.”

            “Kathryn,” he rasps.

            “Be still,” she whispers, pulling him close, sheltering him as the firefight continues around them. She brushes her fingertips across his lips and wipes away blood. “We’ve called for a beam out. But you have to stay with me until _Intrepid_ can get a lock. Stay with me, Chakotay.”

            “Always,” he says, but it comes out as a half gurgle and he knows his lungs must be filling up. “Love you, Kathryn.” He reaches up and weakly wipes a tear from her cheek. “Never stopped. Never will.”

            She pulls him close, rocking him in her arms. “Be still. Be still.”

            He tries to breathe but the pressure and the blood won’t let him, and he gives himself up to the blackness, his nose pressed to the beautiful curve of Kathryn’s neck.

=/\=

             He is sinking through dark, brackish water, his limbs heavy and unfamiliar. His lungs ache for a breath of clear air, but he cannot find the surface. Panicked, he flails aimlessly against the water, frightened by the painful tightness in his chest.

            Someone is calling his name. His father's voice slices through the water, summoning him home to supper. Through the murk he sees a warm, yellow light and tries to swim toward it, but the light is flickering, flickering, and then it is gone and he is sinking again.

            Another voice is calling, that of a child inviting him out to play. He recognizes the voice of a friend lost to him when he was just a boy. He recoils from the implication, but her sing-song words bring with them a ray of illumination, almost blinding, like the sun of home glinting off the lake. He hesitates, but the pull of the unseen voice and the need for air are strong and now he is surging toward the sun.

            An unseen hand yanks him back.

            He is fighting against it, desperate for the warmth of the sun on his skin and the summer breeze in his lungs, but the hand is strong, too strong, and he cannot resist it.

            For a long time, he knows only the water and the pressure and the sensation of sinking into nothingness.

**END of Part 2**


	3. Chapter 3

**Part Three**

            He wants to take a deep breath.

            But the awful memory of trying to draw oxygen into blood-soaked lungs is strong and visceral, so he sips at the air with rapid, tiny gasps that barely satisfy him until he feels an urgent need to cough.

            He resists it.

            There was water. He mustn't cough in the water.

            He presses his lips together.

            "Doctor? I think he's coming around."

            Kathryn's voice from across a great chasm, Kathryn's strong, gentle hand closing around his ankle.

            "He's stable." A new voice, one he can't identify. "But he needs to breathe."

            Kathryn's voice again, close by now. "Stop fighting it, Chakotay," she says. The mattress under him dips, and her hands close around his upper arms. "Go ahead and take a breath."

            He shakes his head against the pillow.

            She lays her hand against his cheek. "I  _need_  you to breathe so I know you're all right. I need you to open your eyes and tell me you're fine. I know you can. Breathe for me, sweetheart."

            So deep and sudden is his surprise at the endearment that he gasps and chokes. Then he is coughing, surging up into her waiting hands, clearing the memory of each bloody breath with a wracking, wrenching bark. He sits up and leans forward until his head rests on her shoulder and her arms close around him, soothing away his coughing fit with slow, warming touches on his bare skin.

            “That’s it,” she croons, her lips against his hair. “Breathe deep.”

            He shakes his head again.

            “I know it hurts, and it might for a little while longer. But Doctor Nguyen says your heart and lungs are fine now. Just take a nice, deep breath for me and he’ll let you go.”

            Chakotay decides he’d much rather stay here in her arms, but the need to breathe is overwhelming. He steadies himself against her and inhales slowly. The pressure in his chest intensifies and is joined by a searing pain that makes him gasp. He closes his hands around her waist, his fingers twisting in the material of her clothing – not a uniform, he realizes, something softer and more pliable.

            When he exhales, the pain and the burning are gone.

            “Again,” she orders, and he obeys. She draws back from him a little. “Better?” He nods. She lets go of him with one hand, pulls a pillow behind him and eases him back into a half-reclining position.

            He finally opens his eyes and finds her hovering over him. There are dark circles under her eyes. She’s wearing a pale yellow sweater he’s never seen before, and above it, the emerald necklace he gave her for her birthday. When she’s satisfied that he’s settled, she smiles. “You gave us a scare, Chakotay.”

            He licks his lips. “What happened?” The words come out as a croak. She hands him a glass of water.

            “What’s the last thing you remember?”

            He drinks greedily, then stares at the half-empty glass. “Drowning.”

            “Oh…” With a small shake of her head, she clasps his free hand in both of hers. “It was a projectile weapon,” she says softly. “The first shot came in through the back and exited through your aortic arch.” She touches his chest, very near his pounding heart. “The force of the shot turned you partway around, so that the second shot entered from the front and tore your right lung, which began to fill up with blood immediately from the damaged aorta.”

            He nods. “Drowning.”

            She pulls the Sickbay blanket up around him. “Drowning.”

            He finishes the water and sets the glass on the bedside table. “Why?”

            She gives a half-shrug. “It was an assassination attempt. You noticed that there were no women at any of the military installations we saw?” He nods. “The officer who gave us the tour is the head of a faction that’s blocking the entrance of women into the military – one of the few acceptable ways to escape the lowest caste.”

            “Caste-driven sexism,” he deduces. “The detail we missed.”

            She nods. “What the Ambassador and I can’t decide is whether Starfleet knew and just omitted it, hoping that my presence would make an impression, or whether they were in the dark and my presence was completely coincidental.” She leans back in her chair. “We’ll find out when we get back to Headquarters. Either way, I was an affront to the officer. The enlisted personnel knew that, and hoped to make an example of him.”

            “We were caught in the crossfire.”

            “Not ‘we.’ Just you.” She places her hand on his shoulder. “You were the only member of our party who was injured. A couple of Finnis personnel were wounded, but _Intrepid’s_ security team had the situation under control in less than a minute.”

            He grimaces. “It only seemed like forever.”

            Her eyes are soft on him. “For me, too,” she whispers.

            Before he can respond, Doctor Nguyen moves to the side of his bed.  “How are you feeling?” she asks. She  waves a tricorder over him. “Any pain?”

            He takes a few deep breaths and shakes his head. “None. I feel fine. A little tired, but fine.”

            Nguyen peers at the tricorder. “The repaired lung and aortic stent are functioning perfectly. Your blood pressure and heart rate are elevated, but that’s to be expected. You’ve been through a lot.” She snaps the tricorder closed. “You’re free to go, Commander. No activity restrictions, although you might want to take it easy for a day or two.”

            He rubs his chest. “Thank you, Doctor.”

            She smiles. “Check in with your primary care physician when you get home, Commander. He’ll make sure the stent metabolizes and dissipates in a week or so. And I’m a little concerned about that blood pressure.” She turns to Kathryn. “You’ll keep an eye on that?”

            Kathryn nods solemnly. “Of course, Doctor. I won’t let him out of my sight.” Chakotay’s eyebrows rise, then he catches Kathryn’s mischievous smile.

            The Doctor clucks at them both and retreats to her office. Kathryn hands him a pile of clean clothes. “I took these from your quarters. I hope you don’t mind.”

            “Not at all.”

            “Lavatory’s through that door.” She points to a small room just off the Sickbay. “Do you need help getting up?”

            “I don’t think so.” He gingerly swings his legs over the side of the bed, pushes himself to a standing position, and sways slightly. Kathryn steadies him with an arm around the waist. He frowns at his own weakness. “How long have I been here?”

            “Most of three days. We left Finnis yesterday. We’ll be home in less than forty-eight hours.”

            “Good.” He moves away from her, the clothes clutched to his bare chest. “I’ve got fall classes to plan.”

            In the lavatory, he examines his chest but can find no evidence of his wounds apart from two pale patches of new skin, one over his heart, one lower down on the right side of his ribcage. He twists around to see the back of his shoulder in the mirror and finds a larger patch there. He stares at himself in the mirror for a long time. There should be some visible change, he thinks, some clue that he has returned from the brink of death. But there is nothing. So he dresses and shuffles back into Sickbay.

            Kathryn is there waiting for him. She slips her arm around his waist again. “Ready?”

            “Ready.” He allows himself to lean against her.

            As they make their way through the corridors, he reflexively starts to move away when they are approached by a passing crewman, but she stays close to him. This is not _Voyager_ , he realizes, this is _Intrepid_ , and this crew are not _their_ crew. He wraps his arm around her shoulders to gauge her reaction, but still she does not move away.

            Back in his temporary quarters, she helps him settle onto the sofa under the stars. “Do you need anything?” she asks, crossing to the replicator.

            “Not right now.”

            “You’re not hungry?”

            “I’m too tired to eat.”

            “You should lie down.”

            “I think I will.” Dazed with fatigue, he shuffles into the bedroom, kicks off his boots and crawls under the comforter.

            She hovers in the doorway. “I’ll be right out here if you need anything.”

            “You don’t have to stay.”

            “I’ll be right here,” she repeats.

            “Okay, Kathryn. Thanks,” he mumbles, and falls asleep.

=/\=

            His waking this time is easy. Soft and slow. He breathes deeply, reveling in the feel of his lungs expanding and contracting.

            A whiff of coffee reaches his nose. It’s close by. In the room with him. “Kathryn?” he says softly.

            There is a soft exhalation and a rustling in the room.

            “Wait,” he says. The rustling stops. He is still half asleep, not yet alert enough to stop his next words. “You called me ‘sweetheart.’”

            She makes a soft sound he has never heard from her before, more than a gasp, not quite a sob. “Yes.”

            “Why, Kathryn?”

            “You died,” she whispers. “Twice. Once just after the beamout before Doctor Nguyen even started working on you, once when she was repairing your aorta. Your heart stopped. You died.”

            He opens his eyes. Even in the dark room, he can see that she’s been crying. “But I came back, Kathryn.”

            She sits down on the edge of the bed. He pushes himself higher on the pillows so that he can look into her eyes. “It was a devastating injury,” she says.

            Watching a tear roll down her cheek, he takes her hand. “I’ve been injured before.”

            “Not like this. On _Voyager_ , if you were down it usually meant I was dealing with a crisis without you. I didn’t have time to spare to think about what would happen if… How I would feel if…” She stops, teeth fastened on her lip.

            “Did you stay with me?”

            She squeezes his hand. “I beamed out with you. By the time the Doctor had you in surgery, the security staff had the tactical situation under control and the Ambassador was reporting in to the diplomatic corps. There was nothing left for one desk-bound bureaucrat to do until debriefing but prepare and send a statement. So I did that, then I stayed with you. And for the first time I let myself feel what it would be like to lose you.” She swallows hard, and he resists the urge to wrap his arms around her, sensing there is more she needs to express. “So many words we never said, Chakotay. So many things we never did.”

            “I’m all right now.”

            “But you weren’t. And for a while, we weren’t sure you ever would be again.” She shakes her head. “You were so shattered. All I could think about was your heart…your good heart…broken because of me.”

            On impulse, he unbuttons his shirt to expose the patch of pale skin. “I’m okay, Kathryn. Look. There’s nothing there. My heart is fine.”

            The passing stars are reflected in the tears rolling down her cheeks. She stares at him for a long, silent moment. Then she raises her hand.

=/\=

            At the first touch of skin on skin, they both gasp.

            Her gaze snaps up to meet his and she tilts her head to one side, as if seeking permission.

            “You called me ‘sweetheart,’” he repeats, his voice barely more than a breath in the darkness.

            “You said you love me.” Before he can respond, she leans forward and presses a soft, wet kiss to the pale patch of skin over his heart.

            “Kathryn,” he groans. Feeling his body begin to respond to her nearness, her lips on his skin, he tries to twist away but she pulls him back. She brushes his shirt aside, seeks and finds the pale skin over his ribcage. She presses another kiss to his body and he shudders.

            “I called you ‘sweetheart,’” she whispers. “I thought it a thousand times, but I could never say it out loud before.” She kisses his belly. Instantly hard, he fights not to thrust up at her. “I needed to say it out loud.”

            “Say it again.”

            She tilts her head back to look up at him. “Sweetheart,” she says. “My sweetheart. My Chakotay.” Then she strokes her fingertips down his ribcage and reaches for his pants.

            “Kathryn, Kathryn, wait.”

            “No. Not anymore.” He’s forgotten how impatient she can be but gets a sudden reminder when she opens his fly and eases his pants and shorts over his throbbing cock. Without warning, she closes her lips around him and he cries out.

            It’s too much sensation all at once.  Her hair tickling his thighs, her hot tears falling on his skin, her small hands caressing his flanks. The wet sound of her lips and tongue on his shaft. He braces one hand on the mattress and rocks slowly, afraid of hurting her. When she tilts her head back to look up at him, he is almost undone. “I love you, Kathryn,” he chokes. “I love you.”

            She smiles and pulls back to lick the head of his cock one last time, then crawls up his body for a kiss that goes on and on until he thinks he’d happily suffocate from it. When she retreats, gasping for breath, he pulls the sweater over her head and she unhooks her bra in the same motion.

            Pale, freckled, flushed, with high, round breasts tipped by taut, rosy nipples.

            She is unutterably beautiful to him.

            He wraps his hands around her tiny waist and kisses the emerald in the middle of her chest, licks his way across her collarbone and takes one peaked nipple in his mouth. Fingers twisted in his hair, she groans and arches up at him, thrusting more of one breast into his eager mouth, while he teases the other with his fingertips.

            When she rocks on his lap, the soft material of her pants chafes sensitive skin and he flinches. “Too many clothes,” he murmurs.

            She clucks her tongue and rises up on her knees to remove the rest of her clothing, and he wriggles underneath her until he is naked, too. He strokes his hands up her thighs to her center, dips a tentative finger into her center and moans at the warm wetness he finds there. She shivers and rocks into his hands.

            They regard each other for a long, charged moment. “How do you--”

            “As fast as possible,” she says, and pushes him back on the bed.

            He almost laughs out loud. Of course, _of course_ she would want to be in control this first time. He complies and reaches for her hips. Eyes locked on his, she braces her hands against his chest and lowers herself over him, and onto him, so slowly, as if she has crossed a chasm to reach him. “Oh god,” she breathes. Her head falls forward, a curtain of her hair cascading around his face.

            Hot, wet, tight. He anchors her to him and thrusts up into her once, twice, struggling to find a rhythm, determined to see her come apart on him before he takes his own pleasure. But this is Kathryn, _his_ Kathryn, and he has wanted her for so long that he knows he cannot last this way. “You feel so good,” he gasps. “So damn good, Kathryn.”

            Her fingers bite into the muscles of his chest. “I knew it would be this way,” she says. “I knew you’d open me and fill me like this.”

            At her words, a flame erupts in his chest, burning away all thought, surging into his belly. He swells inside her and she gasps. “I feel that,” she says. “I feel you. Oh!” She stiffens over him and rocks again and again, her body contracting on his, her sultry voice crying out his name. He stops moving, wanting her to enjoy every second of their joining, until he feels her begin to slow. Then, with a mighty heave, he rolls them both over, wraps her legs around his waist and pounds into her so that they are joined so completely they will never be parted again.         

            She pulls his head down and kisses him, her tongue thrusting in and out of his mouth, until he can’t breathe anymore. When he pulls back she raises her head and licks his ear and he shouts his pleasure to the stars, buried in her wetness, pulsing his pleasure deep inside her.

            He collapses onto her and she holds him, stroking his back, whispering in his ear. “Sweetheart,” she says, again and again. “Sweetheart. My Chakotay.” She turns her head and kisses his cheek. “I love you. I’ve loved you for years, and I thought I’d lost you.”

            He rolls onto his side, pulling her with him. “But you didn’t.” He tucks her head up under his chin and buries his face in her hair. “You never will.”

            Her warm, wet breath caresses his chest. “You’re with me?”

            “Always.”

            To his surprise, she giggles. “I really just wanted make sure you’ll still be here in the morning. But ‘always’ works, too.”

            He chuckles and pulls the blanket up around them and holds her until she falls asleep. Only then does he close his eyes.

=/\=

            Hours later, they make love again, slowly and languidly this time, learning each other in moments of tenderness and ecstasy, whispering all the words they could never say before.

            Afterwards, he pillows his head on her breast and closes his eyes at the way her soft caresses ease away the powerful loneliness he’s felt since leaving _Voyager_.

            Since leaving Starfleet.

            Since leaving home all those years ago, when he was just a boy.

            Her fingertips move over his cheek, wiping away his silent tears. “What is it?”

            “I feel so much.”

            “I know.”

            “I feel like I can breathe again. I feel… _home._ Maybe for the first time.”

            She presses a kiss to his forehead. “At peace.”

            “At peace,” he echoes. “Peaceful.”

**END of Part 3**


	4. Chapter 4

**Epilogue**

            On a Saturday evening just before his classes start again, they walk hand-in-hand along the Rue de Rivoli. They’ve spent most of this final day of their vacation in Paris wandering through the Louvre. She is talking about all the beautiful works of art they’ve seen today, waving her free hand for emphasis. He nods and makes small sounds of affirmation whenever they seem to be warranted, but he’s barely listening.

            His free hand is in his pocket, closed around a small black box. The fingers of both hands are trembling slightly. He hopes she doesn’t notice.

            He sees a street sign, mentally compares it with the page in the back of the new blue notebook hidden in their hotel room, and pulls her around the corner. “Here, Kathryn,” he says. “Let’s walk through the Tuileries.”

            She stops, her brows knit together. “But don’t we have dinner reservations?”

            “Not for another hour. Let’s go this way.”

            She shrugs and follows him, resuming her treatise about Da Vinci or Danton…or something. He’s too distracted to notice, but pleased she acquiesced to his plan.

            They walk a bit longer, enjoying the fine, late August day and the time together away from work. He leads her along the paths until they reach the Basin Grand Rond, where he stops and turns to her with a smile.

            Her words tumble to a halt. “What?”

            He shrugs. “I love you, Kathryn.”

            “I love you, too.” She rises up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. Then  she looks around her, as if noticing where they are for the first time since they left the Louvre. “Why have we stopped here?”

            “Because it’s beautiful,” he says. “Because it’s the perfect place.”

            “Perfect place for what?”

            Elated that he’s managed to plan and execute this strategy – this trip to Paris, this stroll through the Tuileries, this perfect moment in time – without her catching on, he laughs out loud.

            Then he reaches into his pocket.

###

**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last part of my request was for a happy ending. :-)
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this story! If you did, drop me a line. It would make my day.  
> Laura


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